


Dream Logic

by hannahberrie



Series: first time he kissed a boy [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Internalized Homophobia, LET'S FIND OUT, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Sleepovers, The Hammock™, how much reddie bickering can one story physically contain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahberrie/pseuds/hannahberrie
Summary: One of Richie’s hands then pats the back of Eddie’s head, and out-of-fucking nowhere, Eddie feels his anger fizzle out like a wet match. Because? He’s being hugged? By Richie? In the adult section of the video rental store? And it doesn’t feel terrible?In which the Losers plan a sleepover, and Richie and Eddie don't plan on catching feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first time writing a fanfic in almost an entire year? Sorry if it's a little rusty, but Reddie got me right in the feels in Chapter 2. I imagine this story taking place after they defeat Pennywise in Chapter 1, but before the blood oath. 
> 
> Though let's be honest, who actually cares about the 'canon timeline' anymore. I don't know her.

The Losers discover it while messing around in the junkyard: a combo VCR TV. It’s a total accident that they even find it in the first place: they’re practicing throwing rocks at miscellaneous objects (in case Bowers or that clown fucker decide to show their sorry faces in Derry again) when Richie stumbles across it while looking for more rocks. 

It’s an early September day; the sky is blue and scattered with trailing strips of white, puffy clouds. Even though it’s not that hot, the cicadas are still humming softly, like they didn’t get the memo that summer’s coming to an end. School lingers on the horizon, but no one’s paying it any attention today. Today, the day feels infinite with possibility, buoyant with the relief that their weeks of terror have finally passed. 

Eddie has his shot lined up perfectly — one eye squeezed shut, one open and trained on the beer bottle sitting atop a stack of tires — when Richie lets out an ecstatic yelp, startling all of the Losers and causing them to flinch. 

Eddie’s rock goes veering to the left, clattering against a pile of rusted bicycle parts. “Hey!” He frowns, “You wrecked my shot!” 

“Screw your shot!” Richie replies. He shoots up a few feet away, body hidden behind an old pickup truck. “Look what I found!” 

The group exchange wary glances before dropping the rocks they’re holding and running over to join Richie. They come to a stop in a cluster around him, gazes quickly falling on the point of interest. 

“Is that—“ Mike begins, smiling broadly. 

“A fucking TV!” Richie beams, standing beside it. It’s sitting there like it’d sprung up from the earth itself. It’s dusty, the sides are scuffed, and the screen is streaked with mud, but it looks intact. The screen isn’t cracked, the buttons are all there, and the VHS tape slot even still has its cover. 

“I wonder if it works,” Stan says as Ben kneels before it. 

“If it does, we could bring it back to our clubhouse!” Richie continues, “We could watch whatever we want, whenever we wanted!” He’s still speaking with the same eager grin, but Eddie notices the way he pushes up his glasses nervously. He’d never admit it, but he needs them to approve his idea. 

“Th-that’d be cool!” Bill smiles. 

“Yeah!” Mike echoes. 

“But there’s no way it still works,” Bev says, though her voice has a hopeful tinge to it, as if she hopes that her words will jinx it otherwise. 

Ben’s brow furrows as he examines the back of the TV set. “I don’t know; I think it could.” 

“Since when did you become a technician?” Richie exclaims. 

“I’m not,” Ben replies, looking flustered, “I just help the library with their A.V. equipment sometimes.” 

“_Nerd Alert!” _

“So, what does it need?” Mike asks, politely ignoring Richie. 

“It looks like the RF Coaxial cable input is a bit damaged, which is probably why they threw it out,” Ben answers. 

“What the fuck?” Richie scoffs, “In English please, por favor!” 

“That was English, you illiterate fuck,” Eddie snaps as Stan bursts out laughing. 

Richie’s cheeks flush red, but he chooses to deflect to Stan. “What the fuck are you laughing about?”

“Y-You’re so illiterate!” Stan wheezes, wiping at his eyes. 

“Am not! I had no trouble reading the Playgirl I found in your dad’s nightstand!” 

“Fuck off.” 

“C-Can we fuh-focus please?” Bill cuts in, giving them all a stern look. _Sorries_ are mumbled all-around before Bill turns back to Ben. “So c-can you fix it?” 

“I think so,” Ben shrugs, “We could probably find a replacement part somewhere in here.” 

“Even if we did get it working,” Stan says, “How would we get it back to the clubhouse?” 

“We could carry it,” Bev suggests. 

“But there’s no power.” 

“My grandpa has some of those industrial extension cords around the farm,” Mike offers. 

“I know th-that my dad has some in our g-garage,” Bill adds, “If we got enough, we c-c-could stretch them to the gas stuh-station on Kansas Street.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Eddie cuts in, shaking his head quickly, “No way. Do you know how dangerous extension cords are? Too many strung together would be a huge fucking fire hazard! Not to mention, what do we do if it rains? What the fuck would we do if it rains? Instant outage, if we don’t get electrocuted first! I don’t wanna die in some hole in the ground, electrocuted by some junkyard TV, when we all have perfectly working TV’s in our own houses—" 

But then he’s cut off mid-rant when Richie suddenly lunges at him. Before Eddie even has a moment to process what’s happening, he’s scooped into Richie’s arms and thrown over his shoulder. 

“Put me down, asshole!” Eddie yells, using his non-casted arm to pound his fist against Richie’s back. He can’t see Richie’s face — only the ground and the back of Richie’s obnoxiously blue Hawaiian shirt — but he can tell Richie’s sporting a shit-eating grin; his chest is shaking with laughter as he holds Eddie over his shoulder. 

“You worry way-too fucking much, Eds!” Richie laughs, ignoring Eddie’s flailing arm and swinging legs, and suddenly they’re off, Richie running Eddie around the junkyard as Eddie screams in protest (_“Put me down, idiot! I’m going to have a fucking asthma attack! You’re going to break my arm again! I’ll kick your fucking vagina off!”_)_. _

“Alright then,” Stan says, nonplussed. 

“So, are we gonna do this?” Mike asks, turning to look at the rest of the group (sans Richie and Eddie), who all turn to look at Bill. 

Bill nods. “L-let's get started.”

* * *

As it turns out, repairing the TV and dragging it back to their clubhouse takes a lot more work than expected. They spend a good half hour just digging through all the TV’s in the junkyard, looking for one with a working cable input, then Ben has to carefully remove it, install it in their new TV using whatever tools he can find from the junkyard (which requires even _more _searching), then Ben, Bev, Stan, and Richie have to haul the TV all the way to the clubhouse while Bill and Mike hunt down as many extension cords as they can find. 

By the time the TV’s near their clubhouse, Eddie’s surprised his friend’s limbs haven’t snapped off yet. For the first time since it happened, he’s actually grateful for his broken arm, as it saves him from bickering alongside the rest of his friends as they slowly lug the TV over fallen logs and broken branches. 

“Alright!” Eddie calls out. He’s waiting for them by the hatch of the clubhouse, waving them closer. He’s still not crazy about this whole plan, but the least he can do is try to help. At this point, they’re in so deep that there’s no going back now. “You guys are almost there!” 

“Fuck off!” Richie pants. 

Eddie scowls. “I’m being supportive, asshole!” 

“As supportive as your mom’s bra!” 

“Beep, beep, Richie!” Beverly huffs. She’s got the front of the TV in her grasp, which means she’s walking entirely backward. “How much further, Eddie?” 

“Just a few more feet!” 

Ben and Richie keep the sides balanced as Stan brings up the rear. By the time they get it to the hatch, coordinate a way to lower it inside, and finally set it on a stack of old milk crates, everyone looks exhausted. They practically crumple onto the nearest surfaces available, completely wiped. There’s not long of a resting period though, since moments later, Bill and Mike arrive, pulling along the end of an extension cord. 

“We used so many extension cords!” Mike says as he and Bill enter the clubhouse. He sounds almost bashful about his declaration, but then again, Mike kind of sounds like that about everything. 

“Y-yeah!” Bill beams, “Like eight hu-hundred feet!” 

Eddie lets out a worried moan in response. 

“Well, it's the moment of truth, gentlemen,” Richie says seriously. He walks over to Bill and Mike and claps them on the back before resting an arm around both of their shoulders, “Plug her in!” 

Even though Eddie can’t stop mentally listing as many statistics as he can remember about electrocution, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a _little bit _excited about the possibility of this working. Having their own TV would be awesome — he’d never have to worry about his mom yelling at him for turning off the TV because a character swore or something. 

Bill approaches the TV, extension plug in-hand. This is it. The Losers are so silent, they can hear the faint sound of passing cars driving over Kansas street. 

Bill kneels 3 down, grabs the TV cord, pushes it in, and— 

A familiar buzz immediately fills the room, followed by the rushing hum of tv static. 

“Holy shit!” Stan gasps. 

“It’s _aliiiiiiiive!” _Richie exclaims. 

“You fixed it!” Bev smiles, giving Ben an affectionate nudge. Ben blushes so hard, Eddie’s surprised he doesn’t immediately melt into the floor. 

Eddie has no other response than to shake his head and smile in disbelief. He can feel his anxieties from earlier slipping away. Instead, the pure excitement in the air feels contagious and he finds himself thinking more and more about all the cool things they can do know. They can watch whatever they want! They could even get an Atari! 

“G-Great job everyone!” Bill says proudly, looking happier than Eddie’s seen in a long while. 

“You know what this calls for?” Richie announces in a clipped British accent. 

“What?” Bev indulges, quirking an eyebrow. 

“A rager!” 

“A rager?” Stan echoes. 

“An all-nighter movie night! We can stay up late, rent some movies, and all that girly shit. Plus, we can bring all the best booze, babes, and junk food this shit town’s ever seen!” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Bev smiles, rolling her eyes.

“B-But that would be fun!” Bill admits, then frowns, “Muh-minus the booze and b-babes.” 

“Boring,” Richie grumbles. 

“Let’s do it!” Mike smiles, “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a movie night.” 

“Or a sleepover,” Ben adds, “Plus, we’ve never spent the night here.” 

“Wait, sleep in _here?_” Eddie balks, “_Down here? _What about the spiders?” 

“Who cares?” Richie frowns. 

“Haven’t you ever read a fucking book? The average human being swallows eight spiders in their sleep a year! _EIGHT!” _

“_What?” _Stan yelps, looking horrified. 

“EIGHT!” Eddie repeats.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Mike says hesitantly. 

“Eight!” Stan moans. His body crumples against the post he’s standing next to; he looks like he might actually die on the spot. 

“I bet spiders taste like chicken,” Richie muses. 

Bill sighs. “I-If you guys are really that sc-scared, you can wuh-wear some of those fuh-face masks that they give you at the d-doctor.” 

“Oh,” Stan brightens slightly, “Good idea.” 

“…Fine, yeah,” Eddie sighs with a reluctant nod. 

“Aw,” Richie groans. He crosses the room and stands next to Eddie, leaning his head on his shoulder, “Shit, Eds; if you wear a mask, how am I going to kiss ya’ goodnight?” 

“By kissing my ass, Trashmouth,” Eddie grumbles, nudging Richie away. 

“Gladly!” Richie giggles, promptly earning himself a kick to the shin.

And so, despite the lingering fear of spider-swallowing, a plan is set in motion: a movie night in the clubhouse. The guest of honor? Their new TV. 

Since getting the TV set up took up most of the day, they all decide the best way to get the sleepover started would be to divide and conquer. Stan and Bill head to the pharmacy to stock up on surgical masks; Bev, Ben, and Mike head to the grocery store to get some snacks; and Eddie and Richie are left to get some movies to watch. 

“Don’t get anything shitty,” Stan says to Richie and Eddie as they all return to the junkyard to get their bikes and part ways. 

“So that’s a no to your dad’s sex tape?” Richie asks with near-genuine-sounding concern. 

Stan flips him off, and Eddie can see Richie opening his mouth to reply, so he decides to cut in and save them all 5 minutes of pointless bickering. 

“C’mon, slow-ass,” Eddie grumbles, grabbing Richie’s hand and pulling him toward his bike, “We don’t have all fucking day!” 

“But I have all the time in the world for you, Eds!” Richie says with a sappy sigh, swinging their hands together. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie rolls his eyes and pulls his hand away just as his heart starts to beat a little faster than usual. “Just hurry the fuck up.” 

Despite all the bickering they’ve already done today, they manage to bike to the video store without killing each other, exchanging only amiable chatter about how they’re both dreading the start of school in a few weeks. 

“If I don’t have you in at least one of my classes, I’m going to jump off the fucking kissing bridge,” Richie says as they arrive at the video store. 

“You wouldn’t even die from jumping off that,” Eddie says as they park their bikes in the alleyway, “It’s too short, and there’s a hill right behind it. You’d just break your ass.” 

“Would you sign my butt-cast then?” 

“There’s no such thing as a fucking butt cast.” 

“How do you know? You’ve never broken your butt.” 

Eddie hates that he actually laughs at that. It’s not that Richie’s butt-cast commentary is any funnier than the rest of his shitty jokes, it just kind of builds up sometimes. Like, Eddie spends so much time trying to not let Richie know that he actually finds him hilarious, that it comes out in unexpected bursts here and there. 

Richie, of course, looks absolutely pleased with himself, just like he always does whenever he manages to sneak a laugh from Eddie. He scampers around to the front door of the video rental store, Eddie trailing after him, and holds it open. “After you!” 

Eddie gives a dismissive snort as he walks past Riche and enters the store. As soon as he’s inside, he’s overwhelmed by the familiarity of the place. It’s been a bit since he’s been in here (being tormented by a killer clown all summer kinda makes it hard to find time to rent a movie), but it’s as if nothing’s changed. The carpet is still a deep emerald green, the shelves of movies still tower higher than Eddie himself. There’s still a life-sized cardboard cutout of Luke Skywalker, right next to the one of Phoebe Cates. Eddie still doesn’t know why, out of all the possible pairs of cutouts this store could have, they went with those, but whatever. 

“Home sweet home,” Richie sighs as he leads the way to their section of choice; _Action and Adventure. _The section isn’t that organized though, unless _Pretty in Pink _suddenly became an action movie without Eddie realizing, but the Losers all agree that it’s the spot in the store with all the best movies.

The boys begin to browse through the VHS tapes on display aimlessly, trying to find something worthwhile. 

“Hey, what about _Weird Science?” _Richie suggests, holding it up. 

Eddie glances over at him. “What’s that one about?” 

“These two dweebs make themselves a girlfriend on a computer.” 

“If I could make someone on a computer,” Eddie muses, “I’d make another one of you who knew when to shut the fuck up.” 

“I’d make another one of your mom!” Richie shoots back. 

“Ew! Why?” 

“Endless threesomes!” 

“Ugh! You’re so disgusting!” Eddie elbows Richie’s arm.

“You love me,” Richie smiles in response, turning his attention back to the rows of VHS tapes. 

Eddie hates that he feels flustered over that — _why the FUCK does he feel flustered over that???? — _and instead forces himself to follow Richie’s lead. He focuses on scanning the movies in front of him before his eyes settle on one in particular. “Hey, what about _E.T._?” He grins, pointing to it, “He kinda looks like you.” 

Instead of telling Eddie to _fuck off _— as expected — Richie instead grins back and raises a finger. “_Eeeeeelliot,” _Richie croaks, moving his finger to Eddie’s chest. It’s pretty unfair that his E.T. impression is sort of good. 

“Cut it out!” Eddie laughs, squirming away.

“_I’ll beeee right hereeeee,” _Richie continues, tapping Eddie’s heart. 

Eddie can’t stop laughing, which is really fucking annoying, because doing so is clearly _encouraging _Richie. “Fucking stop!” He exclaims in between laughs, “And also, you’re not even doing it right! He touches his forehead, you stupid idiot!” 

“_I’ll beeee right hereeeee,” _Richie corrects, tapping Eddie’s forehead. 

Eddie, still trying — and failing — to fight off his grin, grabs Richie’s arm and attempts to wrestle it away from himself. But his angle is off, and Richie is faster, and it quickly turns into this weird, standing, arm-wrestling sort of battle. 

“L-Let go!” Eddie exclaims, his laughter coming out in frustrated pants. 

“Y-You grabbed me first, dumbfuck!” 

Eddie doesn’t know how it happens, but sometime while they’re still tussling back and forth, their grip loosens, Eddie’s hand slips lower down Richie’s arm, and then they’re holding hands. There are a few seconds where they’re both grasping each other in a death grip, but once they realize what’s happened, they both freeze. 

Richie’s palm is surprisingly soft (albeit a little clammy). His fingertips are sporting fresh callouses though, no doubt from lugging the TV back to the clubhouse today, and if Eddie’s being entirely truthful, it doesn’t feel that bad. In fact, there’s something oddly comforting and familiar about it, something that makes Eddie feel —

“Um,” Richie says. 

And just as quickly as the touch started, Eddie ends it by yanking his hand away. He can feel his cheeks burning as he takes a few steps back, turning his attention back to the movies. “Um,” he echoes, followed by a cough. 

An awkward silence settles over both of them, a rare occurrence that leaves Eddie feeling squeamish. 

“So, uh…” Richie says after a moment, “Do we wanna get _E.T.,_ or…?” 

“No,” Eddie says, still avoiding eye contact. He’s not sure why he is, it’s just that looking directly at Richie feels suddenly incredibly impossible somehow, “We’ve all seen it a million times.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Richie nods. “Uh…what about…_Alien?” _

“Ben hates scary movies.” 

“Shit, yeah…_Indiana Jones_?” 

“Which one?” 

“The first one.” 

“Fine. But let’s get a couple more, in case people wanna vote on one or something.” 

In the end, they settle on _Raiders of the Lost Ark, Karate Kid, _and _Back to the Future. _They’re walking back toward the checkout counter, Richie chivalrously carrying the tapes for them, when something catches his eye. 

“Hold up,” he whispers, swinging out an arm to stop Eddie. 

Eddie walks into him with an offended grunt, followed by a scowl. “What?” 

“Check it out!” Richie points to the saloon-style double doors that lead to the back of the store. Affixed to them is a hastily handwritten sign written with Sharpie marker on Day-Glo paper: _adult only must be 18+ to enter _

Eddie eyes it skeptically. He’s walked passed those doors plenty of times, but never really paid them any mind. “What’s back there? Like, more rated-R movies?” 

“That’s where they keep the _porn, _dumbass!” Richie says, still forcing himself to whisper while also clearly trying to stop himself from laughing out loud. 

“Oh,” Eddie mumbles. 

“Let’s go check it out!” Richie says, looking at Eddie with a conspiratorial grin. 

“No way! We’ll get kicked out!” Eddie hisses, eyes wide. 

“No, we won’t! The manager’s a dumbass!”

To prove his point, Richie jabs his thumb toward the checkout counter, where the manager is currently snacking on cheese puffs and entirely engrossed in the portable TV he’s got beside the cash register. His beard, scraggly and unkempt, is sporting some distinct bright orange crumbs. 

“_Ugh,_” Eddie whispers, shuddering with disgust. 

“So let’s go!” Richie pleads, “Before he sees us!” 

“But I don’t want to go in there!” Eddie grimaces. 

“Aw c’mon, don’t be such a pussy, Eds!” Richie whines. 

“I’m not being a pussy! You’re the pussy!” 

“Then c’mon!” Richie says, and then he’s tucking the VHS tapes under his arm and slipping his hand into Eddie’s, and Eddie suddenly feels like jelly, and then Richie’s pulling them back past the double doors.

Eddie half expects the store to completely transform into an entirely different place, some sort of weird, entirely different, _adult _place, but the back of the video store looks the same as the front — same peeling beige walls, same green carpeting. The only difference, the _main _difference, is that instead of a bunch of cool movies on display, it’s like _all_ naked people. 

Eddie averts his eyes quickly; his entire body feels like it’s on fire. He doesn’t know where to look: the shelves are obviously a no-go, he can still see the movies covers out of his peripheral vision when he looks up at the ceiling, and the carpet has all these gross looking stains — and even though he knows it’s most likely beer or something, because of the color and smell, his mind can’t help but go toward like, _bodily fluids. _

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was still holding Richie’s hand, he would have been clutching his inhaler right now — he can already feel his throat start to tighten up. “If my mom knew we were back here, she’d probably have an aneurysm,” Eddie says tightly.

“Spare me, Eds; she’s probably the number one customer!” 

Since there’s nowhere to look, Eddie settles for staring at the side of Richie’s face. God, he should be fucking furious with Richie right now. After all, Richie’s the one who dragged him to this crackhead section of the video store that’s filled with _naked _people. He’s the one who never stops teasing him all the time, the one with an obnoxious E.T. impression, the one who has the stupidest face Eddie’s ever seen, a face that’s dotted with freckles and has a long sloping nose and a stupid smile and — 

“Jesus, check out the rack on this chick!” 

“What the fuck are we doing here, Richie?” Eddie hisses, refusing to look. 

“Hey!” Richie says, holding up his hands as if in self-defense, “I’m just taking a peek! Aren’t you curious?” 

“No!” 

“You’re so boring,” Richie huffs. But because there’s nowhere for Eddie to look other than Richie, Eddie has no choice than to follow Richie as he wanders further down the aisle. 

After a few more moments of Richie making mixed comments of shock, disgust, and admiration, Eddie can’t help but glance up tentatively. Thankfully, it’s not as bad as he expected. Most of the VHS covers aren’t super graphic, and just feature people kissing in all kinds of compromising positions. 

“I can’t believe people are actually into this shit,” Eddie grumbles, “It’s so gross. I can’t believe I’m fucking friends with you, either—“ 

“Shit, check this one out,” Richie cuts in. He’s set their movies down at his feet, and his tone has changed subtly. It’s like…less mocking, if only slightly. 

“What?” Eddie asks, and then he notices that Richie’s holding up a tape with two guys hugging on the cover. They’re looking into each other’s eyes all dramatically and intensely as they stand in front of what is an obviously fake background of farmland. 

“This more your speed, Eds?” Richie teases, but that weird note is still in his voice. He’s smiling at Eddie like he always does, but there’s this _look _in his eyes, almost as if… 

…as if he’s testing Eddie, or something. Like there’s something Eddie’s supposed to say, and Richie’s just waiting to see if he will. 

But Eddie doesn’t _get it. _He doesn’t get why Richie dragged them back here, he doesn’t get why Richie would wanna look at this shit, and he definitely doesn’t get what Richie wants him to say right now. 

So, instead, he avoids the question entirely. 

“I didn’t know they had stuff like this in Derry,” he mumbles, and _wow, _his shoes are suddenly the most interesting thing he’s seen all day, and he should really devote his entire attention to staring at them… 

There’s a beat of silence, but Eddie can’t tell what Richie’s reaction is since he’s still staring at his feet. Richie’s never been slow to the uptake though. 

“Of course they do,” he says breezily, “Stan has to get his rocks off somehow!” 

Eddie clenches his fists, brow knit tightly as he looks back up at Richie. “Jesus, Richie, you’re so fucking—“ 

“Yes?” Richie queries, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

“Predictable!”

“Oh yeah? Predict this, fucker!” Richie laughs, and just like that, he chucks the tape right toward Eddie. 

Eddie lets out an embarrassingly loud shriek as he deftly dodges the tape, letting it clatter to the floor behind him. “You idiot!” He sputters furiously. 

Richie nearly doubles-over with laughter. “H-holy shit! Y-You should have seen the look on your face!” 

“I can’t believe you threw porn at my face!” Eddie seethes. 

“_Your fucking face!” _Richie howls, wiping at his eyes. 

“_I’m going to kill you!” _

And just like that, they’re at it for the umpteenth time today, only Eddie is totally at an unfair advantage, thanks to his crippled arm. After a few moments of tussling back and forth, Richie easily overwhelms him, wrapping his damn noodle limbs around Eddie in a tight hug. Eddie’s arms are pinned against his sides and his face smashed against Richie’s neck. 

“_Awww,_” Richie coos as he pulls Eddie in, “Wittle Eds!”

“Let me go!” Eddie snaps, stomping a foot pathetically. 

“Never!” Richie replies with glee, giving Eddie an affectionate squeeze.

One of Richie’s hands then pats the back of Eddie’s head, and out-of-fucking nowhere, Eddie feels his anger fizzle out like a wet match. Because? He’s being hugged? By Richie? In the adult section of the video rental store? And it doesn’t feel terrible? Everything about this situation is so fucked up, and yet Eddie can’t bring himself to care. 

“I fucking hate you,” he mumbles into Richie’s neck. 

“You—“

Richie’s cut off by the sudden slam of the saloon doors swinging open, followed by the plodding footsteps of the store manager. “_HEY_!” He barks with a surprising amount of force for a man who was just gorging on cheese puffs moments earlier. 

Richie and Eddie jolt apart so quickly, Richie nearly drops Eddie onto the floor. Eddie has to take a few steps to stop himself from toppling over. 

“You kids aren’t supposed to be back here!” The manager barks. 

Eddie’s ready for Richie to fire back with whatever disrespectful retort he’s seemingly always got at the ready for figures of authority, but for once, Richie is quiet. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, staring at his feet. He grabs their stack of movies and hurries past the manager and back out into the main storeroom, not bothering to pull Eddie along with him. 

Eddie, needless to say, is confused. The confusion curls and settles in his gut and leaves him feeling tense. It persists even as he follows Richie toward the cash register, where Richie pays for the movies and promptly rushes out the front door. 

“Stop walking so fast!” Eddie complains, trailing after him. They make it to their bikes in the alley. Richie is still dead silent as he shoves the tapes into his backpack, not even making eye contact with Eddie. 

Eddie grabs the handlebars of his own bike awkwardly; he feels like he needs something to ground him in this moment. “Uh, so, you okay, Rich?” He asks, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. It’s so unusual for him to ask Richie _how he’s doing_; they’re always so volatile and sarcastic with each other. It kinda makes Eddie feel like a shitty friend. 

“I’m fine,” Richie mumbles, swinging his legs over his bike. 

Eddie can feel his anxiety growing, creeping up his throat, constricting it. This is weird. He hates that Richie’s not talking. He’s always talking and something’s wrong and Eddie needs to fix it _right now. _But how? His brain is running at a million miles a minute, all the possible things he could say flitting through his brain before he’s even had a chance to fully think them through. Sincere, concerned, teasing, deflecting — 

“I told you we’d get caught,” is what he winds up spitting out, which makes him immediately want to kick himself, because he knows that’s not what Richie needs to hear right now. 

Richie is silent for a moment, before turning to look at Eddie with an expression he can’t read. His eyes are completely flat, his mouth a straight line. “Congrats, you were right,” he says. And with that, he takes off, peddling out of the alley and towards the street. 

“Wait!” Eddie frowns, “You’re still coming to the sleepover, right?” 

“Obviously!” Richie calls back, and then he’s out of sight. 

Eddie feels his shoulders slump. He didn’t understand Richie; one minute they’re goofing off like they always do, and the next, it’s like Richie’s embarrassed to even be seen with him. He doesn’t understand what went wrong (was it his fault?). 

And most of all, he doesn’t understand why he can’t stop thinking about how it felt to be in Richie’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will happen at the sleepover?? Gay shit?? Most likely!!
> 
> Please comment so I know this story isn't going out into the void.


	2. Chapter 2

Eddie literally has to sneak out his bedroom window to make it to the sleepover. He should have known that it’d be a mistake to stop home and get some things to bring with him; it ended, as expected, in a huge argument with his mom. No matter how hard he insisted that his arm was fine, that yes, they were all sleeping at Bill’s house, and that no, that ‘dirty Marsh girl’ wouldn’t be there, his mom didn’t care. He was officially grounded. Just for ASKING to go to a sleepover. It was beyond unfair.

_Well, screw her,_ Eddie thinks as he squeezes out his window and tentatively makes his way down to the ground. He tosses his things to the grass below and awkwardly uses one arm to descend the trellis on the side of his house like a ladder. It’s a lot harder than he thought it’d be, but he makes it work.

As he bikes back to the clubhouse, the sun is already setting. It hangs low in the sky, surrounded by painterly strokes of bright orange and pink clouds. Crickets begin to chirp as Derry turns in for the night, and Eddie’s unexpectedly reminded of how peaceful summer nights can be. He’d almost forgotten, after everything.

As he passes through downtown and gets closer to The Barrens, he can’t help but worry about Richie. Ever since he got ditched at the video rental store, Eddie hasn’t been able to get that flat, emotionless look out of his head. Richie’s always an open book — it’s practically impossible to _not_ know what he’s thinking at all times since he’s always more than willing to let you know. Maybe that’s why their interaction earlier rattled Eddie so much: for once, he doesn’t know what Richie was thinking and he hates it.

When he arrives at The Barrens, the sky has grown dark, making everything look more looming and ominous. He quickly maneuvers his way through the trees, following the long extension cord that winds through the bramble until he finally arrives. The hatch of their clubhouse is closed, but it’s illuminated by a square of light that peeks up from below. Eddie leans his bike next to everyone else’s by some nearby trees and goes over to the hatch, giving it their secret knock.

Moments later, Bev lets him in. “Hey, guys; Eddie’s here!” She announces.

“W-What took you so long?” Bill asks as Eddie climbs down.

“My fucking mom,” Eddie huffs, rolling his eyes. His feet land on the ground and he takes a second to look around. The TV is still sitting where they left it, and still working. Stan and Mike are sitting on a quilt and working on a puzzle together: a 500-piece image of birds that definitely belongs to Stan. Bill and Bev are sitting in the hammock, chatting idly, while Ben and Richie are sitting on some bean bags a few feet away, huddled around an Encyclopedia Brown book.

_Richie!_

Eddie promptly tells his brain to shut the fuck up. It’s not like he’s excited to see Richie, or anything, he’s just happy that Richie came after how moody he seemed earlier.

Thankfully, Richie seems to be back to normal now. “Who cares what happened to this chick’s goose?” He scoffs as Ben flips the page, “She’s kinda annoying anyway.” He’s wearing a basic white t-shirt with a pair of obnoxious Hawaiian-print pajama pants, and just sitting there reading, and not doing anything of note, and yet Eddie can’t stop glancing over at him. He’s kinda surprised that Richie hasn’t acknowledged his arrival yet, but keeps quiet about it.

“I think the campers ate it,” Ben says.

“Well, that’s fucking dark.”

“What are you guys reading?” Eddie asks, going over to them.

“Encyclopedia Brown,” Ben replies, “He’s a detective.”

Richie continues to read the page they’re on, not bothering to look at Eddie, which really annoys Eddie. Why isn’t Richie paying attention to him??? Richie always pays attention to him, that’s their whole _thing_. The whole unspoken thing that just makes their friendship work. The thing that makes them Richie-and-Eddie.

“Well, now that Eddie’s h-here, we can stuh-start the movie,” Bill announces.

“We decided on Raiders of the Lost Arc,” Stan says, still engrossed in his puzzle, “while we were waiting for you.”

“Ok,” Eddie shrugs. He turns back to Richie, waiting for him to rag on him for being late, and how that’d forced them to vote without him, but as soon as Ben closes the book, Richie just gets up and goes to sit in front of the TV.

Fucking _rude_. So much for being back to normal.

And so, Eddie sets down his backpack, crosses the room, kneels next to Richie, and hits him on the back of his head.

“_Ow! _What the fuck!?” Richie yelps. He raises a hand to touch the back of his head, but Eddie quickly swoops in and grabs it instead. He starts smacking Richie’s cheek with Richie’s own hand, smiling impishly.

“Hey, Rich, why are you hitting yourself?” He asks, fighting back laughter.

Richie sits there and takes it; he’s pretty used to this by now.

“Why are you hitting yourself?” Eddie continues to ask, “You’re like, hitting yourself so much, dude! Holy shit, you’re hitting yourself so hard!”

This goes on for a solid ten seconds before —

“Not as hard as I hit on your mom,” Richie finally says, a small smirk curving the side of his mouth.

_Success_.

Eddie keeps making Richie slap his own cheek, firing off as many teasing remarks as he can think of until Richie’s seemingly had enough. “That’s it!” He huffs, breathing out with a grin. He shoves Eddie’s hand away and pushes him so that Eddie’s lying on his back. Before Eddie even has time to process what’s happening, Richie’s yanking Eddie’s _Thundercats_ t-shirt over his head and blows a big, exaggerated raspberry into Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie lets out a yelp of surprise before bursting out laughing, unable to stop himself. It fucking tickles, okay? “Agh!” He exclaims, yanking down his shirt, face burning red, “Stop!”

“That’s what you get, fucker!” Richie declares, looking very proud of himself.

If there was one word to describe how Eddie feels right now, it would be _alive_. He feels so hyperaware of everything happening right now: the hard ground against his back, how the air between him and Richie seems charged with some unknown force, how Richie’s still leaning over him, his hands resting on each side of Eddie’s head.

He wants to stay in this moment forever, though he’s not sure why.

He doesn’t say any of this to Richie though; he’d sooner swallow an entire mouthful of greywater. Instead, he lifts a hand and shoves Richie’s face to the side. “Screw you,” he grumbles.

“Can you two shut up!?” Stan cuts in, “The movie’s about to start!”

Eddie glances over to see that the rest of the Losers are seated around the TV, looking over at them with combinations of annoyance and amusement.

“Calm your tits, Stanley,” Richie replies. He looks a little flustered though as he sits up and sits down next to Eddie.

Eddie sits up too and pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of them.

As the movie begins, Bill dims the camping lamp they use for light in the clubhouse. The Losers are now only illuminated by the glow of the TV screen, making everything feel more intimate.

After a minute or so, Eddie, unable to stop himself, leans into Richie. “Hey, Rich, are we like...cool?” He whispers, trying to sound casual, but knows he probably sounds nervous as fuck. He’s just really scared about the idea of not ever being friends with Richie.

Richie turns to smile at him. He looks like he’s about to open his mouth to say something crude — he’s got that glint in his eye — but thinks better of it. “Yeah,” he whispers back, voice genuine, “We’re cool.”

“Cool, then make room, asshole,” Eddie replies, still keeping his voice low. He pushes Richie’s hands up and out of the way and slides over, resting his head on Richie’s lap and lying back.

“Jeez, Eds,” Richie whispers as Eddie angles himself toward the TV, “If you wanted to blow me so bad, you could have just asked.”

Eddie smacks Richie’s thigh but doesn’t move, and after a minute or so, Richie starts running his hand through Eddie’s hair, and everything is right in the world again.

* * *

After finishing Indiana Jones, the Losers decide to make it a double-feature by watching _The_ _Karate Kid _afterward (“Tonight’s cinematic theme is _kicking people’s asses_,” Richie declares in what’s probably supposed to be a 50s-radio-host voice).

But by the time the second movie is over, everyone’s sufficiently wiped. Stan has already fallen asleep in his sleeping bag, Bev is starting to doze off on Ben’s shoulder, and Bill and Mike are clearly struggling to keep their eyes awake. When the credits finally roll, everyone (minus Stan, who apparently fell asleep before remembering to put his face mask on) stands up and sleepily stretches.

“W-We better call it a night,” Bill yawns, turning off the TV. They’re plunged into temporary darkness before Mike sets the camping lamp to a low light.

“Already?” Richie pouts. “C’mon, Big Bill, what happened to our all-nighter?”

Now that the movie’s over, Eddie sits up quickly, feeling shy about leaning on Richie all of the sudden. Richie glances at him with another expression Eddie can’t read before returning his attention to Bill.

“I-It’s been a long day,” Bill replies, keeping his voice low, “Stan is already ah-asleep.”

“Because he’s fucking 80! He’s gotta get his beauty sleep for bridge and bingo tomorrow!”

“We can still hang out in the morning,” Mike suggests, “I just got my allowance, so we could go to the diner on Canal St., the one with the really good waffles.”

Richie considers this for a moment before nodding. “You drive a hard bargain, Mikey.”

“I know,” Mike smiles.

“Less talking,” Bev mumbles sleepily, still leaning against Ben even as she stands, “M’ tired.”

“I can help you set up your sleeping bag,” Ben offers, and Eddie has to fight back a laugh because he can’t even imagine what it must be like to be so obviously and obliviously crushing on someone while everyone else knows it.

Beverly nods before she and Ben walk off to a quiet corner of the clubhouse to roll out their sleeping bags.

As everyone starts to settle in, Richie and Eddie both turn to look at the hammock, and then each other.

_“I call—_

_“The hammock!” _

Then they’re shoving — literally shoving — past each other to make it to the hammock first. They end up in a dog-pile on top of it, nearly breaking the whole structure — with Eddie having thrown himself atop Richie’s back.

“Ha! I made it first! Suck on that, Eds!” Richie hisses. How considerate of him to be looking out for Stan’s sleep while he gloats right in Eddie’s face. Jerk.

“Only because I have a broken arm!” Eddie hisses back, “I’m not sleeping on the floor! I’m not about to swallow eight stupid spiders!”

“Tough luck, Eduardo. Get your ass on the floor!”

“I’ll kick your ass onto the floor, dumbass!”

“B-Both of you ju-just get in the hammock!” Bill snaps, voice still low. “St-stop fighting all the tuh-time! You can share!”

They both shut up at that — after all, what Bill says goes. Also, he sounds pretty pissed off at them.

And so that’s how, a little less than an hour later, Eddie finds himself lying in the hammock with Richie, bundled in a blanket, and trying to fall asleep.

It’s kinda weird that he and Richie can go from lying next to each other while watching movies to fighting it out to be away from each other. It doesn’t really make sense. He tries not to think about it or sort out what it could mean.

Right now, he and Richie are lying at opposite ends of the hammock, each of their feet resting by the other’s head. Richie’s snoring softly, his head leaning against Eddie’s feet. He doesn’t have his glasses on, which softens his features. It’s almost kinda...cute. If it was possible for Richie Tozier to be cute (which it totally isn’t, for the record).

Eddie had tried falling asleep with a face mask on, but he’d found it hard to breathe and quickly tossed it aside. He tries not to think about

(_I’llTakeAllOfYouAndI’llFeastOnYourFleshAsIFeedOnYourFear_)

the spiders. The problem is, it’s hard to think about anything else. Everyone is asleep. The camping light has long since been turned off, and the moonlight that was previously coming through the hatch door slipped away about 30 minutes ago. The only light comes from the tiny red glow of the TV’s power button, which isn’t comforting. It reminds Eddie of an eye staring at him, cold and unblinking. He pulls his blanket tighter around himself and tries to breathe.

_You’re safe, _he thinks,_ you’re safe because you all defeated the fucking clown and you won’t swallow any spiders and nothing can hurt you anymore and you’re NOT scared anymore —_

A clap of thunder cuts him off mid-thought. He freezes. A bright light flashes above the hatch door — _lightning!!!! _— before the raindrops start to pitter and patter and pour.

“_Fuck!_” Eddie whispers frantically. The extension cords! They were going to die down here! They were going to FRY down here thanks to the stupid electrical cord and then they would all float just like the clown said and Eddie didn’t want to die especially not here especially not now especially not because of some stupid junkyard TV!

He doesn’t realize he’s having an asthma attack until he literally can’t breathe. His hands clutch at his own throat as if he can forcibly press air into it.

“_Shit!_” Someone whispers, and Eddie looks up and sees Richie staring back at him, eyes wide and scared. Seconds later, he’s stumbling out of the hammock (nearly flipping Eddie out of it in the process) and running over to Eddie’s backpack, making sure not to step over any of their sleeping friends.

Eddie’s vision is starting to blur and the corners of the room are growing darker. “R-Ri-,” He stammers, but finishing his sentence seems very hard, and he gives up.

“Here!” Richie whispers, running back over. He holds out Eddie’s inhaler, “Bite on this!”

Eddie doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes a big, gulping puff of air, eyes watering from relief, and then from actual tears. Because now he knows that his whole ‘illness’ is bullshit, his asthma is bullshit, and yet he can’t stop this from happening.

After a few more intakes of air, his heart rate goes down, he can see clearly again, and his breathing slows. “Th-thanks,” he whispers, quickly wiping at his eyes. The last thing he needs right now is for Richie to see him _crying_.

“Jesus, you really scared the shit out of me,” Richie mutters. He sets Eddie’s inhaler down on a pile of blankets a couple of feet away before hesitantly climbing back into the hammock. “You good?”

“I think so,” Eddie says, avoiding eye contact. The storm outside continues to pound against the roof of the clubhouse. The buckets they’ve set up in strategic locations begin to echo with the sounds of single raindrops plinking into them. “I just...i was thinking about the storm and...yeah.” His voice trails off helplessly.

“Dude, we’re not going to get fucking electrocuted,” Richie insists. He leans over the side of the hammock and grabs his glasses from where he left them on the floor, coming back up to look at Eddie seriously.

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Plus, we’re underground right now. You can’t get electrocuted underground!”

Eddie’s not sure if that’s true, but it sounds correct. “Yeah...I guess you’re right.”

“No shit, I’m always right.”

“Fuck off.”

There’s another dramatic flash of lightning, followed by a steady roll of thunder. Eddie can’t help but flinch, feeling his heart rate begin to spike again.

Richie glances at the hatch door, then at Eddie again. “Hey.”

Eddie glances at him. “What?”

“C’mere,” Richie says, so quickly and lowly, Eddie almost doesn’t hear it over the storm.

At first, Eddie’s not sure what Richie means — he already _is_ here — but then he sees Richie opening up his arms and —

Oh.

_Oh. _

Eddie suddenly sees the rest of his night split apart like one of those Choose-Your-Own-Adventure books. Either:

A) He brushes off Richie, thus keeping the upper hand in their endless bickering, goes back to sleep, and tries not to have another panic attack, or:

B) _Richie!_

It’s harder to tell his brain to shut the fuck up this time around. Eddie still makes a show of rolling his eyes and grumbling as he carefully maneuvers himself around so that he’s lying in Richie’s arms.

Richie lies back, cradling Eddie gently as he tucks them both under his blanket. Eddie keeps one arm pinned between them and gently lays his casted arm over Richie’s chest. Richie wraps both arms around Eddie’s waist, and Eddie would have to be lying if he said this wasn’t comfortable.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, resting his head on Richie’s chest.

Richie just shrugs wordlessly, the action causing his body to move beneath Eddie’s head. He smells like cheap body spray and cherry-flavored Airheads candy, and as much as Eddie hates it, he kinda likes it, too.

As he closes his eyes, he feels his worries about the storm and the clown fall back. They’re not gone, exactly, but rather drowned out by the steady thrum of Richie’s heartbeat.

If someone ever asked Eddie if he liked Richie as more than a friend, he wouldn’t be able to answer. The question had never crossed his mind. Even now, as he lays in Richie’s arms, allowing Richie to snuggle him like a teddy bear, Eddie’s not questioning anything. This is just how they are. They fight with each other more than with anybody else, but they’re also closer (literally closer, in tonight’s case) to each other than with anybody else.

“You’re so _adorable_, Eddie Bear,” Richie simpers, giving Eddie an exaggerated squeeze.

“Fuck off, I will leave,” Eddie says, making no effort to do so.

“Is that how you speak to the guy that just saved your life?”

Eddie falls silent as he starts thinking about his medicine again. His _illness_. If Richie found out that it was all in his head, he’d probably hate him. He’d probably be so annoyed that Eddie was always having asthma attacks — that Richie was always having to _save_ him — from shit that wasn’t real.

Eddie thinks about how shitty it was to have Richie upset with him earlier, and then he kinda starts to cry again. Ugh. Even though he tries to keep it in, Richie can probably feel how Eddie’s shaking, and Eddie’s kind of starting to get Richie’s shirt wet.

Sure enough, Richie tenses, glancing down at him. “Are you...uh, crying? It was just a joke, Eds!”

“T-That’s not it,” Eddie whispers, burying his face completely in Richie’s shirt. Making eye contact sounds way too difficult right now.

“Then what?”

“I...I can’t tell y-you. You’d hate me.”

“Fuck off, I could never hate you, Eddie!” He pinches one of Eddie’s cheeks, “You’re too cute to hate!”

Eddie lets out a nervous laugh and shoves Richie’s hand away. “_Stopppp!_” he whines as Richie instead places a big, wet, smacking kiss on Eddie’s cheek, “You’re so gross!”

Richie only laughs in response, though when Eddie glances up at him, he could almost swear that Richie’s cheeks are flushed a shade darker than usual. It’s kinda hard to see down here though, so maybe not…

Eddie bites down on his lip. “I...I...”

“Spit it out, Bill!” Richie jokes, and he looks almost hopeful and nervous at the same time as he waits for Eddie.

“I...I don’t have asthma,” Eddie finally mumbles.

He can feel the imperceptible slump of Richie’s shoulders. Is he...disappointed? About what, though? Was he expecting Eddie to confess something else? “Wait, what?”

“My medicine’s a gazebo! It’s bullshit! My mom just made the whole thing up! I’ve never been sick, she just made me think that I was!” The more he says, the easier the words come out, and it’s in this moment that Eddie realizes he’s been dying to tell someone. “But the fucked up thing is that I keep having asthma attacks anyway, because she’s gotten inside my head. She’s in my head and I don’t know if she’ll ever leave and I can’t stop feeling like I need my inhaler even though the whole thing is bullshit!”

Richie’s silent as he takes this all in.

Eddie stops to catch his breath, looking up at Richie anxiously.

_Well? _

“Well...” Richie says slowly, “This is going to make fucking your mom a lot more complicated.”

Eddie frowns and sits up. “Are you kidding me? I’m trying to be serious, asshole!”

Richie’s eyes widen with alarm. “I know, I know! I’m sorry, Eds. Nervous reflex!”

Eddie rolls his eyes and doesn’t lie back down. Maybe he needs to take a turn brushing Richie off.

“It’s just, that’s a lot to take in, ya’ know?”

Eddie shrugs, still not looking at him.

“...Why would I hate you for that?”

Eddie sighs and looks at a random spot on the floor. “I dunno. I just don’t want you to think I’m a pussy, or annoying, or some shit.”

“You’re not a pussy! Did you see the way you yelled right in that fucking clown’s face when we were fighting him? That was badass.”

Eddie blushes with pride. “I guess...I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. I haven’t told any of the other Losers yet, I...I’ve been scared to.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to be brave in the dark,” Richie mumbles, “When no one can see.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to think of that. It doesn’t make much sense to him — how could anything be easier with no one around to help?— but he doesn’t press Richie further.

“Now, lie back down, I’m cold,” Richie half-orders, half-pleads, “I need my spaghetti space-heater.”

“Fine,” Eddie huffs, crawling back into Richie’s arms just like before. As he lies back down, it’s as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders, as cliché as the saying is. He’s just relieved that Richie doesn’t hate him, that he still wants to be friends with him, and that maybe, just maybe, he’s not as scared of everything as he often thinks himself to be.

* * *

Eddie can’t have been asleep for more than 5 minutes before Richie’s jostling him awake. As he opens his eyes, his head still feels heavy and thick with sleep. “What the fuck, Richie?” He mumbles into his friend’s chest. The thunderstorm is continuing as proudly as ever. He can hear the trees above as they creak in the wind.

“I can’t fall asleep,” Richie whispers.

“So, you wake me up?”

“Duh.”

“Selfish,” Eddie says, too tired to think of a more scathing insult. He tries to drift back off, but Richie won’t stop _talking. _

“_Hey. Heyyyy. Eddieeeee._” He starts poking Eddie’s cheek insistently.

“Shhhhh.”

“Don’t ‘_shhh’ _me!”

“Mmph,” Eddie hums.

“Let’s play a game!”

“What the fuck?” Eddie frowns. He rubs at his eyes and sits up a little so that he can look at Richie. He’s gotta make sure he’s hearing him correctly. “Why?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Richie insists. He’s jostling his leg, a sign that Eddie knows means he’s either excited or nervous. Maybe both? “Let’s play twenty questions!”

“What?”

“You know, the game where you ask each other twenty questions.”

“I know what twenty questions is and that’s not how you pl—“

“Alright, I’ll go first. What did you think of the porn we looked at today?”

Speechless. That’s the only word to sum up how Eddie feels in response to his best friend waking him up in the middle of the fucking night during a thunderstorm to ask him about porn.

“Richie,” Eddie says evenly, “Go to sleep.”

“Just answer the question!”

“I’m tired,” Eddie pouts, “And I didn’t even look at any of that shit, you were the one that dragged me in there. It was gross.”

“Like, all of it?”

“Yes, fucking all of it!”

Richie hesitates before rambling off in an obviously forced casual manner, “What about that one with the two guys? That was fucking wild, right?”

It’s happening again: another test. Eddie wishes he had his inhaler, but can’t think of an excuse to go grab it. Also,_ he doesn’t need it anymore, _he needs to keep reminding himself that…

“I dunno,” Eddie mumbles, “I guess.”

Richie scans his face, as if the hidden depths to the questions he’s asking can be found amongst Eddie’s freckles or hints of worry lines. The longer that neither of them say anything, the greater the weight of Richie’s stare feels. Should he say something? He should probably say something.

“Why do you care?” Eddie continues, and he finds himself whispering, though he’s not sure why.

“I don’t!” Richie says quickly.

God, he’s acting so fucking weird tonight; Eddie can’t figure him out. He’s never had this problem before today; Eddie’s always understood Richie, all his predictable quips and awful jokes. He knew how Richie’s face scrunched up when he was mad and how he fought to keep it together when he was sad. But right now…

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Eddie admits.

“I don’t need to you say anything!” Richie says, sounding exasperated. “I just need…I just want…”

“What?” Eddie snaps, “What the fuck do you want, Richie, because I wanted to fucking sleep, and instead you wake me up in the middle of the night to ask me random questions like some kind of crackhead, and now I’ll probably never fall asleep again, and you’ve been acting weird all day, and now—“

And while Eddie’s still thinking of things about Richie to complain about, Richie leans in and kisses him mid-sentence.

Though kiss is somewhat of an exaggeration. Richie brushes his lips over Eddie’s so lightly and quickly, they barely make contact. Nevertheless, Eddie comes to a standstill. He’s pretty sure his entire brain stops functioning, actually.

As quickly as he leaned in, Richie falls back against the hammock. He looks like someone knocked the wind out of him.

Eddie stares back at him. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe Richie slipped forward…while lying down? No, that didn’t make any sense…

Eddie clears his throat. “Richie…I…”

“OkayLet’sGoToSleepNow,Yeah?” Richie says in a single breath, and just like that, he rolls over onto his side and closes his eyes.

Eddie takes a deep breath and tries to think of what to do…

… He doesn’t fucking know what to do.

Until he sees it: the shake of Richie’s shoulders. He’s trying to keep it together. Which means that Eddie needs to do whatever he can to keep him together. 

Eddie carefully lies back down so that he’s nearly spooning Richie, but makes sure to keep a few inches between them (or at least as many inches as the cramped hammock will allow). “Richie…” he whispers, staring at his friend’s back.

“‘M sorry,” Richie mumbles, not turning around, “I was just fucking around.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Eddie says hesitantly.

Richie pauses. “…Why are you sorry?”

“Because...I fucked around with your mom.”

He can’t see Richie’s reaction until Richie slowly turns around so that he’s facing Eddie. Eddie’s relieved to see that he’s smiling that million-watt smile that paradoxically both shatters and mends Eddie’s heart at once.

_Success. _

“Motherfucker!” Richie grins.

“Literally,” Eddie snorts, and then they’re both doing their best to stifle their laughter and not wake up all of their friends. Their faces are close together — noses brushing as they both laugh — but Eddie tries not to focus on that.

Because if he does — if he focuses on the way Richie’s eyes light up in the dark, the way his smile makes Eddie feel warm, the way they fight with each other more than with anybody else, and are closer to each other than with anybody else — he realizes that his world as he knows it is on the brink of completely falling apart. Richie could entirely and thoroughly ruin him. Everything he knows about himself, about _them, _might be something _more, _and he’s not sure if he’s ready to face that yet.

But he knows he can never live without Richie, and he never wants to risk their friendship over anything.

As their laughs die down, Eddie gives Richie the most sincere, serious look he can muster. “I could never hate you, Rich,” he says, which is perhaps the closest thing to _I love you _that he can bring himself to say.

Richie smiles back at him with the softest expression imaginable. Eddie didn’t know it was physically possible for Richie Tozier to look so

(_lovesick_)

soft, and yet, here they are.

As Eddie looks back at him, he starts to realize what Richie was talking about earlier, how it’s sometimes easier to be brave in the dark. Where there’s no one to walk in on them, no one to judge, no one to be embarrassed by. And Eddie knows that this has to be true, because he’s feeling extremely confused, but very brave, as he leans in and gives Richie a soft kiss.

Even though neither of them have ever admitted it out loud, they’ve been here before: soft fumblings in the dark at past sleepovers. When the other Losers had all fallen asleep, they found their way to each other. Sleeping bags inched closer, whispers exchanged a little lower. Eddie’s head on Richie’s lap during a movie. This — whatever _this_ is — almost feels like a natural progression of that.

Eddie knows that it probably won’t mean anything in the morning. It never does. They’ll wake up and bounce right back into their routine: teasing and pushing and then pushing further. They’ll bury their doubts and return to being just Richie-and-Eddie. But right now,Richie’s kissing him back, and it’s kind of the best feeling in the world. Eddie’s head feels light and dizzy as their mouths move together, hesitant and gentle.

He feels like he’s dreaming — maybe he is, maybe he’s fallen asleep without realizing it — like the world is wonderful and nothing he does matters. Like there’s nothing to stop him from leaning closer, kissing harder; that his actions aren’t powered by some unknown gut instinct, but just kind of _happen_, like all things in dreams seem to do.

After what feels like both an eternity and a single second, they break apart, both glancing away from each other bashfully.

“Eddie—“ Richie begins.

But he’s not sure if he’s ready for everything to change yet. He’s still not entirely sure what this all means, and parts of it scare him, but he’s willing to be brave.

Later, though. Right now, he feels himself drifting off, completely lulled into sleep.

“Go to sleep,” Eddie says fondly, laying back down and snuggling his face into Richie’s chest.

“…Alright,” Richie whispers back, his arms wrapping around Eddie once more. After several minutes, Eddie can hear him softly snoring and feel the rise and fall of his chest.

It won’t mean anything in the morning.

But for now, it’s everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! Hope you all enjoyed this story, it definitely left me in my feels.


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